


I Want To Break Free

by elliehase



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, HMCWTIYS, Happy Ending, Headcanon, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29201937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliehase/pseuds/elliehase
Summary: The first day of the rest of their lives, huh?Crowley follows his everyday routine, enjoying a perfect Sunday morning after they prevented Armageddon. Everything is totally fine and then the angel’s attacking him. Well, at least that's what it feels like when someone is wrapping his arms around you from behind, right? Crowley realizes it should totally freak him out, but strangely enough it doesn’t...This is my entry for the write-this-in-your-style contest @usedtobehmc using picture 1 and 2. (Yep, two... I got carried away in the middle of the writing process. In a good way!) Don't worry, despite the description no demons or angels were harmed in this story ;) Romance is heavily implied, but no one is ever talking about it. Misunderstandings ahead!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 63
Collections: USEDTOBEHMC_WRITING_CONTEST





	I Want To Break Free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Usedtobehmc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usedtobehmc/gifts).



The sonorous voice of Freddie washes over him, filling every corner and angle of his apartment. A fine fog occurs in the air as Crowley sprays nearly rhythmically to the music, watering his plants with his green plastic plant mister. He hums the lyrics to ‘I want to break free’, feeling the words like they were meant for him. At least the demon is at peace with himself and the world. Mentally and physically. It’s the first day after Armageddon’t and everything is totally fine ... for exactly one minute.

Anxious hands stroll over Crowley’s back and his shoulders. Someone seems dangerously close to wrap his arms around him. Crowley realizes it should totally freak him out, but strangely enough it doesn’t. The person’s smell is familiar and that might be the only reason why he feels part of his confusion and anxiety bleed right out of his body. He knows exactly who the sudden intruder is. In fact, even if there are a bunch of ill-scented people around him who could possibly cover the smell, Crowley is able to recognize this particular fragrance anytime and anywhere.

Not that he would ever admit it.

“Angel, ssstop it! I'm...” he tries to protest.

Perfect, there it is again, his tendency to hiss whenever he gets pissed or overwhelmed. Except he isn't at the moment. It takes more for Crowley to lose his temper. Sometimes his tongue just stumbles over words and somehow Aziraphale is involved in this process every so often. Nothing to be worried about, though.

“No!” The Blond nearly cries. “No, I can’t let you... I just can’t!”

Okay, that’s a bit worrisome.

If the angel hadn’t sounded so hysterical and disturbed, Crowley would’ve pushed him aside. Because... this is an attack, isn't it? An unexpected ambush. After all this time of 'fraternizing', he is obviously attacking him. From behind. Rude.

“Have you finally chosen your side, Angel?” he asks bitterly and licking his suddenly dry lips.

Just because you’re a demon doesn’t mean you have to be a fool. Yesterday, they prevented Armageddon and out of an instantaneous emotional mood, Crowley might have invited his friend to stay at his place. Without ulterior motives, of course! However, Aziraphale declined his offer. He is, after all, an Angel anchored to obedience and tradition. And now they both are obviously on opposite sides, aren’t they?

“Of course, I have,” Aziraphale mumbles, sounding nearly exasperated. “Don’t you ever ask that ridiculous question again.”

Right, lately Crowley pointed out quite often that they belong neither to Hell nor to Heaven anymore, that they have their very own side. And every fucking time Aziraphale gives a damn shit. By now Crowley should be used to it or at least have learned from it. History repeats itself, huh? Abandoned by an angel, and he is the one fooled again. It’s kind of silly and laughable…except it’s totally not.

Maybe, they are no friends. Maybe, they have nothing whatsoever in common. Maybe, they have lots of other people to fraternize with. Maybe, they don’t need each other. And maybe, he had been going too fast. Crowley can deal with that, even if the longing converts every cell in his body until he’s more solitude than man. Because there are only so many maybes he can endure.

Crowley feels so very, very human these days.

“Of course,” he repeats wryly.

 _Then get the fuck out of my apartment_ , is on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down and sighs. It’s a poor way to phrase the frustration that fills his chest right now.

Aziraphale is still standing behind his back, no movement at all, even his hands are clinging steadily to his shirt, which is somewhat odd. “Are you alright, my dear?” asks the angel. It comes out urgently.

Crowley hissed softly. That’s a rather pathetic question, isn’t it?

One moment the redheaded demon is talking motivational to his houseplants (“Don’t disappoint me! Grow better!”) and he’s fine, indeed, a perfect Sunday morning... and the next moment the angel’s attacking him. And Crowley kind of missed everything in-between.

“Are you hurt? Please, don’t be... I’m not too late, am I?”

Crowley feels his heart clench a little at the other man’s miserable voice, although his behavior makes absolutely no sense. Frantically Aziraphale begins to search for blood or other not-so-funny injuries like bones protruding through his skin or organs hanging out of his stomach... or whatever this slightly distressed angel is looking for.

Crowley’s imagination is colorful and endless.

“Relax. I’m fine,” the demon insists. He feels how Aziraphale is pressing his face desperately right into his back like he’s afraid of losing him. His whole body is trembling while he tightens his grip around Crowley’s torso. Holy Shit. Belatedly, he realizes the angel’s not attacking but hugging him. That’s... unacceptable! He’s a demon after all. Demons don't do such embarrassing things like cuddling.

Head over heels he finally turns around, bursts himself free to face his friend directly. Aziraphale is a drop of white against the dark walls of Crowley’s apartment. The angel’s brightness nearly stings the demons eyes.

“What’s gotten in to you all of a sudden!” he cries a pitch higher than he intended.

“Prophecy,” Aziraphale replies in a way as if this will explain everything. A small choked noise ascends from the angel’s throat, dangerously close to a sob.

Crowley’s own panicked shout still rings in his ears as he clears his throat awkwardly. “Er, yeah,” he says slowly, his brows furrow. “No. No, actually I’ve no clue what you’re talking about, Angel.”

The blond man in front of him opens his mouth and closes it again. His light blue eyes still look worried and his hand yet hovers between them, cautious and slightly wary as if he believes, Crowley will discorporate right in front of him when he goes any further. Metaphorically and literally.

“You truly need to employ your words,” the Redhead suggests. “Y’know? That thing where your words form an actual sentence?”

Crowley frowns, because he’s pretty sure that Aziraphale is firm with the linguistic process of communication. There was no way in freaking hell that the angel would miss the opportunity to talk a mile a minute. Sure, sometimes he fails human idioms or creates some ridiculous phrases of his own, but leaving this fact aside he is quite silver-tongued, Crowley would say. Not that the redheaded demon appreciates it when the angel babbles hours and hours over right and wrong, or when he recaps all of his favorite Shakespeare plays, or evaluates the squishy texture of oysters. Ugh, oysters are the worst! So many words and now Aziraphale is not using a single one of them in a productive way. Instead, he’s on the brink of crying again.

“Oi, easy Angel,” he says, raising his hands in surrender, because crying is one of those things he cannot stand. “As you can see I’m totally fine.”

Aziraphale just stares doubtfully.

“I’m looking bloody awesome!” Crowley clarifies, just a tiny bit offended.

“You do, my dear, you do”, Aziraphale says softly and blushes. “But your definition of ‘fine’ is quite unreasonable, I can tell.”

And here we go again.

Crowley exhales in a deep and frustrated manner, because this whole conversation is unreasonable. But for the record, the other man admitted that the demon was some kind of attractive for him and that... nearly discorporates Crowley. Possibly that’s why he’s unaware and substantially unprepared for what’s happening next.

Aziraphale takes a step towards him, shining with determination as he grabs his hand, laces their fingers together. Tenderly the angel strokes his cheek. It’s a gentle examination, Crowley realizes, though every touch on his skin is tingling like tiny electric shocks. Aziraphale is close. Way too close. And Crowley’s heart is hammering wildly in his chest, sending lightning through his veins. That can’t be healthy, even for a demon.

“Is this really necessary?” Not that he is complaining but...

“It is,” Aziraphale utters persistently, “perhaps you forgot that you’re hurt.”

_Yeah, that’s totally something Crowley would do._

This time he certainly wants to intervene but than again Aziraphale looks torn and miserable, his eyes watery and his lips quivering. He even uses his angelic voice at him in this soothing and soft tone which was all kinds of unfair. The redheaded demon swallows uncomfortably and finally nods. Not that it would be required, the other man isn’t waiting for his agreement anyway. The Blond just starts all over again, gingerly feeling around his head for bumps, checking his pupils for a concussion (or however this thing works with snake eyes) and searching for any sign of magical mistreatment.

It’s probably because of spending six thousand years on earth that makes the angel react excessively dramatic and totally nuts. Crowley isn’t in pain (except for the unsettling fact that his heartbeat is out of the measurable right now) and he is obviously not bleeding to death anywhere. Therefore, this examination is completely over and above. He doesn’t say it though, because he can clearly see how terrified Aziraphale is about the possibility that his friend is going to die and deep down Crowley knows this horrible feeling.

Flashes of a burning bookshop strike his mind. He remembers lying on the ground, surrounded by hot and looming flames, screaming his lungs out, grieving for the only good thing in his life he thought he had lost forever. A memory he doesn’t want to recall or experience ever again. To say that both of them had a rough time lately, would be the understatement of the millennium. On that account, to be paranoid about something that might happen is ... understandable, isn’t it? Crowley can’t really argue against that, not after being in a perpetual state of mortal peril these days.

After countless attempts, Aziraphale finally gives up on finding any outer or inner wounds. Instantaneously, he seems looser somehow, his shoulders relaxing for the first time since he entered Crowley’s apartment.

“You’re fine,” Aziraphale confirms visibly relieved. “Tickety-boo.”

“Told ya so.” Crowley rolls his eyes, but the smile that’s tugging at his lips looks almost fond. “Now explain, Angel, what’s all the fuss about?”

The Blond fiddles nervously with the edge of his waistcoat, suddenly looking everywhere but into Crowley’s eyes. There is a moment of awkward silence.

“Nothing, my dear”, he finally says, going for nonchalant and failing big time. “A dreadful misinterpretation, that goes on my account, I’m afraid. It’s nothing to fret over, though.”

Crowley gives him a sidelong glance. _Nothing, huh? My arse._

He already has his mouth open for a response as Aziraphale cuts him short.

“Oh, this one’s new, isn’t it?” The Blond points vaguely at a monstrous plant in Crowley’s elaborate conservatory. “You’re a very decent gardener for a demon. Maybe you can show me how to... you know, for the customers and the bookshop.”

Crowley, recognizing a diversion tactic when he sees one, raises a challenging eyebrow at his friend. “You’re doing a crappy job at convincing me of _nothing_ ”, he states, making imaginary quotes in the air with his fingers. “For somebody’s sake, Aziraphale, spit it out already!”

The angel hesitates, his gaze drifting away again so Crowley cannot see the unspeakable things swirling in his eyes. A sudden look of pain crosses Aziraphale’s face, before he puts on a terribly fake smile that settles a cold chill over Crowley.

“Remember the note that fell out of Agnes Nutter’s book?”

“Kind of,” says Crowley lamely, not sure how to continue without bringing up the whole ‘choose a side’-thing once more.

“I’m astonished you can’t remember the part about ‘for soon enouff ye will be playing with fire’,” says Aziraphale, sounding more than surprised.

“Ah, that part.” The Redhead shrugs, a little relieved they were not talking about their side-issue again. “Not really threatening for a demon, if you ask me. No problem here with fire at all.”

“That’s not...it.” Aziraphale sighs. The grayish light in the demon’s apartment casts dark shadows on his face and for a second, he looks vulnerable. “I just... I just had this peculiar feeling that we shouldn’t part right now.” It sounds defensive. “If Hell’s really mad at you, and they certainly are after what we’ve done, they won’t just reprimand you... I’m afraid they’ll destroy you, my dear. Completely.”

Crowley rubs his forehead, because he should’ve known something like this would happen. At the same time, he feels a rush of warm affection as he watches Aziraphale all worried about him being discorporated forever. That’s so wrong on so many levels, yet he can’t really help but smile.

“We’re in this together now,” Crowley says softly and regrets it immediately. Demons aren’t supposed to be soft. So much for that then. Dammit. “Er... I mean...let’s have some wine together?”

A minute later they are sitting on the couch.

Crowley just wraps one of the blankets around his whole body, turning himself into a warm and cozy burrito. The table in front of them is covered with bottles. Not as much as they usually drink, but still enough to ease one’s mind. Aziraphale sits right next to him, apparently studying something old and dusty and written in an archaic language that Crowley might have known in the old days but now he can’t even begin to comprehend. Books are not his department, never have been.

The Redhead slides a little closer to his friend, clearly not on purpose, it simply happens. Seeing the angel reading a book, feels familiar and is strangely comforting. He really wants to burrow his face right into this soft spot between Aziraphale’s neck and collarbone, but he doesn’t dare.

“Maybe you should stop thinking about prophecies,” he says quietly. “We prevented Armageddon, that’s enough for the next... let’s say century, okay? Devote yourself some time off.” An encouraging smile spreads across his face.

“Once you know it, you can’t _unknow_ it, Crowley.” The angel replies, closing his eyes kind of exhausted. “And that’s the whole point, isn’t it? We prevented Armageddon and ten thousands of demons and angels didn’t get their war, they have been looking forward to since the rebellion,” says Aziraphale thoughtfully and opens his eyes again to focus on Crowley. “We should be careful. Heaven and Hell are aware of our arrangement. They won’t let us get away that easily.”

The demon huffs air out through his nose in a _I-hate-it-when-you’re-right_ manner. “The point is,” says Crowley and has a bizarre feeling of déjà vu. “The point... The point I’m trying to make is... I don’t give a shit.”

He pauses, because no. No, that’s not entirely true.

It’s true that he doesn’t care what the higher (and lower) authorities are thinking. He never has and never will. Seriously, Gabriel and Beelzebub and their whole pain-in-the-ass bureaucracy can just fuck off already. Bloody bastards, all of them. The arrangement Crowley has with Aziraphale causes no harm for anyone. Not for the first time he thinks that fraternizing with an angel (even if the word itself feels totally wrong to him) isn’t as unforgivable and awful as demons keep telling each other. Especially when the angel in question is Aziraphale.

Anyway, it’s _not_ true that he doesn’t care about what Heaven and Hell might be planning for their act of subversiveness. And vengeance they will take, it’s merely a matter of time. To kill the body, he has grown quite fond of after six thousand years, is one thing. But threatening his friend, punish or even destroy him for saving humanity, for doing the _good thing_ , is completely out of question. He would never allow that the lackeys of Hell (or Heaven) lay a single filthy finger on Aziraphale.

Never.

To be honest, Crowley isn’t a fan of entire destruction either.

A sense of horror creeps over the demon. His anxiety begins to grow claws, scraping against the inside of his skull. There isn’t enough wine in this world to cope with that.

“Moping gives me headaches”, he croaks. “Let’s pretend we’re save for a sec. If the alcohol isn’t distracting us, maybe one of your books will. Come on Angel, tell me a story. Nothing too demanding, though. Maybe one of that funny sinister fairytales, humans invented to entertain their unnerving children. Little Warlock begged me for a bedtime story every time he was afraid, y’know. Red Riding Hood was our fav-”

Crowley freezes mid-sentence, realizing he’s talking too much.

For a split second Aziraphale seems surprised, but it vanishes as fast as it had appeared. The angel’s eyes flicker over his face, searching for… something. Eventually he nods, snapping his fingers, and a children’s book full of fairy tales miraculously appears on his lap.

“Sure, my dear. I would love to.” A smile emerges on Aziraphale’s lips, small and soft and fully non-sarcastic.

Crowley throws him a questioning gaze when the angel curls his arm around his neck almost protectively, embracing him in a gentle hug.

A hug. His yellow snake eyes widen.

Dear Go-... _somebody,_ what had he done?

Crowley feels a blush spreading across his neck and cheeks, strong and hot and unflattering colorful for a redhead. There’s something warm and tingly unfolding in the demon’s stomach, that prevents further actions like shrieking and cursing. There’s also something in the air between them that makes him feel stupendously unreal and very soft. Crowley isn’t capable of complaining about it anymore, not even in his thoughts.

Maybe, he thinks instead, maybe that’s exactly how things should be right now.

For the first time in forever, Crowley allows himself to hope for ... something. The alcohol (what else could it possibly be?) makes him lean forward, placing his head on the angel’s shoulder. He marvels at how well they fit. Aziraphale’s fine blond hair tickles the bare skin of his forehead when the angel sinks more into the embrace. He smells like sweet crêpes and pure sunlight. Everything is warm and cozy. Suddenly, his apartment feels more like home as it ever has.

Aziraphale starts to read, his calm and deep voice producing words just as comforting as the murmur of the waves. Crowley’s more relaxed and more blessed than he has any right to be, considering they’re in immediate danger of being sentenced to extinction by their angry bosses any minute. It’s a fragile peace. Secretly he hopes that he could maintain it through sheer force of denial.

“The wolf is the poorly misunderstood character in this story, if you ask me,” mentions Crowley after a while. “Shouldn’t be punished for what’s in his nature. Everyone gets hungry once in a while. The dumb girl’s at fault first to run into him and answer foolishly all his questions. But I always enjoy the part where the wolf confronts her in grandmother’s clothes, imitating the manner and voice. Clever masquerade, don’t you think?”

Aziraphale closes the book, slightly startled. “Pardon?”

“I mean, his lousy acting skills aside, he...”

The angel clasps a hand over his mouth. “You’re a genius Crowley!” he says completely out of the blue.

“I’m a... what?” Somehow Crowley gets the vague feeling they’re not talking about fairy tales anymore.

To the demon’s disagreement, the angel jumps up rather quickly, abandoning the coziness of their cuddle and instead pacing in front of the couch like a lunatic.

“A masquerade will save us,” he says eagerly like someone who has actually a plan. “That’s what Agnes tries to tell us in her phrophecy! We have to choose our faces wisely. Of course!”

Crowley reaches for another bottle of wine, sadly realizing they won’t return to snuggle on the couch again, and way too sober for listening to insane plans. “Nah, grandmother’s style ‘s not my thing.”

In a movement quicker than the human eye can detect, Aziraphale rushes to his side. His soft and gentle hands frame Crowley’s face, fixing his eyes with a single-minded determination. “We should switch appearances. We can trick Heaven and Hell!”

It takes the Redhead a minute to catch up.

“You’re sure?” Crowley questions doubtfully. He tries to cling on to his common sense, even as the flood of the angel’s agitation threatens to sweep him away. “They are no dumb girls. Well, maybe Gabriel is, but-”

“You know me better than anybody else”, says Aziraphale persuasively, his baby blue eyes still staring at Crowley’s. “And you are a great performer. If someone can fool them to be me, it’s definitely you.” He pauses, giving his words some weight. However, Aziraphale’s next statement seems to deflate him, his face losing some of its enthusiasm. “I’m well aware, that it is dangerous and I’m getting myself quite worried, knowing you being exposed to Heaven’s cruelty. It’s pretty obvious that they won’t give us a fair trial, neither Beelzebub nor Gabriel. Whatever they’ll enforce on us, I hope our demonic and celestial essence can withstand the opposite. I think it’s the best chance we can get, unless you have a better idea.”

Crowley shakes his head slowly, fully savouring the moment.

“Stop convincing me, Angel. You already had me at ‘great performer’.”

Aziraphale blinks astonished. “You’re in? Really?”

“I thought that was obvious.” A genuine grin flickers at the corners of Crowley’s mouth. “It’s simply a shame that I can’t see _you_ performing _me_ , though. That would be remarkably entertaining, I guess.”

Amusement crinkles Aziraphale’s eyes and an unusual cocky smirk dances on his lips, tinged with a hint of mischief the demon never expected to see at the angel’s face. “You bet, my dear, you bet.”

And that’s how it begins.

The crazy, impossible and incredibly risky plan to escape Heaven and Hell, that’s festering hope in Crowley to believe he can finally break free. _At this point no one can stop me now_ , he thinks, another one bites the dust and in the end friends will be friends or start this crazy little thing called love.

Okay, he really needs to stop using Queen songs as metaphors.

They discuss and prepare their further actions like a pair of especially awesome undercover agents. Well, Crowley does. He does everything with style. But to give Aziraphale some credit, he’s the brain of the whole operation and has a surprisingly good interpretation of the demon’s attitude to walk.

“You’re exaggerating.” Crowley tries unsuccessfully to hide a grin behind his glass of wine as he watches his exact copy swaggering up and down the hall. “But I kinda like it. Do you think that makes me obsessed with myself?”

Aziraphale levels him with a look, one dark eyebrow arched. It’s odd because Crowley has the feeling to look right into a mirror and at the same time, he gets a glimpse of the angel behind the mask. But he’s pretty confident no one besides him would ever notice that. Crowley even has the glorious feeling this masquerade could actually work.

“Screw that,” he rushes to correct himself. “You’re perfect ... er, I mean, you’re _doing_ perfect. Ready to deceive Hell.” The demon stumbles over the words, winces inwardly at having been a jerk twice in a short time. “More wine?” Crowley shows an engaging smile, pouring another drink and hands it to his companion in mischief.

Laughter crinkles the corners of Aziraphale’s eyes. “We should do that more often.”

Crowley, not minding at all, nudges playfully against the other man’s shoulder. “We are drinking quite regularly together, Angel.”

“Not that.” Aziraphale’s lips form a half-grin. His hand helpfully gestures at the couch.

“Oh!” Crowley sighs with realization, trying to avoid a blush. “Then let’s not die today,” he orders, hiding his nervousness under an armored coat of nonchalance.

“Jolly good,” Aziraphale agrees, raising his glass.

 _Good._ Crowley silently mouths the words, a small smile curling his lips as he watches the angel sipping at the wine. Something is rising inside his chest, strong and joyful, filling a hollow place.

Maybe, they are friends. Maybe, they have more in common than they thought. Maybe, they have only each other. And maybe, that’s all they need. Crowley thinks he likes where this is going.

“Remember 1967?” he asks, becoming wistful. “You promised me a picnic at the park or a dinner at the Ritz.” His voice softens at the end of the sentence, not at all accusing. It’s a bittersweet memory of their past, but he would never regret that moment in his car.

“How could I ever forget this particular conversation, my dear”, Aziraphale replies entirely imbued with earnestness. “My apologies for making you... wait? I just... I...” He takes a deep breath. “Believe me, after all is done, I wouldn’t be opposed to that. Gladly devoting you all of my spare time.”

He says the words honestly, gingerly, stamping his vow into the air. At least Aziraphale smiles, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. It’s all the demon ever hoped for. A glow of excitement settles over Crowley's face.

“And believe me, Angel,” he says, eyes shining with prospect. “I’m looking forward to that.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a complete story in English (not my first language). I'm nervous, excited and curious, dears! What do you think?! Feel free to point out any typos, punctuation and grammar mistakes, awkwardly worded sentences... I know I'm not on the same level as a native speaker, but I'm trying to improve here.
> 
> This story is dedicated to UsedtobeHMC (check out Instagram @usedtobehmc). Thanks for this wonderful inspiration!


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